My Jolly Sailor Bold
by HamAndCheese
Summary: Despite not being a sailor, Philip finds himself pressed into the service of an unusual captain. The captain hides a great secret, but maybe Philip understands better than he thinks.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise.**

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><p>"Don't ye mourn for her. Mermaids, they be bad lovers."<p>

Philip looked up at the ragged captain in surprise. How could the man possibly know?

"Ach." The weather-beaten man spat. "Dinnae look at me like that. I ken the look of a man under the spell of one a' them beasts. Had that look meself… long, long years ago."

Captain O'Quinn looked out into the distance from 'neath his craggy brows, lost deep in thought as he pondered his tale.

"Name was Yvaine. Always thought it was fittin' what wid the 'ttention the beast paid to 'er hair…"

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><p>"<em>Yvaine! Yvaine! How beautiful thou art! Oh how my soul cries out the name of my one true love, my fair Yvaine!" The young man crowed. The slight, raven haired girl beside him giggled. <em>

"_James! Really? Is that necessary?"_

"_Oh but for you my heart beats and my lungs draw breathe. I must proclaim you to the seas!" The man laughed, spinning around on the ship's deck. The girl pulled his arm, leading him away from the railing._

"_All right, my love, my strong man. You have proclaimed my fairness enough." The young woman looked into his eyes, her soft smile calling to him like a siren's song, her lips begging for his attentions. She seemed to read his mind, as she tilted her face upward, pressing her lips to his…_

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><p>The captain spat again after his story. Philip watched in equal parts admiration and disgust as the saliva arched over the rail and into the sea. The older man grunted and concluded,<p>

"Seduced me she did, wid 'er beauty 'n all, then left me on a spit a' land nae bigger than this here deck, wid nuddin' but a pistol and a single shot. Dunno what happened ta 'er. Dunno if'n I care. But ya best be puttin' thoughts a' her outta ya head, if'n ya got any brains."

Philip merely grunted in acknowledgement at the man's words, knowing they were wise, and returned to gazing at the sea.

_What had happened to her?_ He couldn't help but wonder. The last he had seen of her was her ghostly white complexion as he drowned. He knew he had drowned. There was no other way. And yet, here he was, standing on the deck of a proud merchantman, the sea breeze ruffling his pigtail. He had been picked up off a small island by the ship. They had assumed that he had been abandoned there by another crew. He did not try to convince them otherwise. But he could not stop his mind from wandering, wondering where she was. Syrena… the name ruled his nights and his days, as images of her beauty haunted him, tortured him. He knew she was out there, but where?

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><p>Her bright eyes watched as the last cask of fresh water was stowed and secured. The mate looked up at her through the hatch.<p>

"That's the last of it, Cap'n." He declared. She nodded and turned on her heel, on her way to attend to other matters, before they set sail on the next tide.

Her boots rapped sharply on the street cobbles as she headed for her destination, the collar of her coat turned up against the chilly November winds. The building she wanted loomed in front of her, and the captain paused, looking around her, before pressing through the door. The sign of a mermaid swung overhead, blowing in the wind.

The captain paused, allowing for her eyes to adjust in the darkness of the tavern. She spotted her quarry, huddled in a booth in the darkest corner, hovering over a tankard. A small smile crept on to her face. _And you thought he wouldn't show._ She chided herself. Quickly, gracefully, she strode across the room, winding her way through the scattering of tables.

The man jumped in surprise as she dropped lightly onto the bench opposite him. He noted her smirk and shrunk back a little.

"What did you have to tell me? Did you find what I wanted?" She whispered conspiratorially.

The man blanched and opened his mouth to tell her everything. Right before he could, the warning from his boss echoed in his mind. _Pay first. Then the information._ He set his jaw.

"The pay first." He said determinedly, with a slight tremor in his voice.

Air hissed through the captain's nose as she dropped a small leather bag on the table between them. It landed with a heavy clunk. The rat-like man scrabbled that the knot that fastened it shut. He succeeded in untying it and yanked the mouth of the bag open. He stifled a gasp as the dull candlelight struck the contents, sending a rainbow of jewel toned reflections across his face. Quickly as he had opened it, he shut it, stuffing the bag of treasure under his cloak.

"O'Quinn'll be docking tonight in Port Royale, and he leaves on the midday tide, headed for Playa del Carmin. He'll be heavily loaded, and slow. Take him when he's approaching Playa."

Without a word, the captain stood and left, headed back to her ship, hunched against the cold drizzle that had started.

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><p><strong>Okay. I can't tell you how good it feel to write again… But anyways… I'm not sure if this'll go anywhere, but hey, it might, and we'll just have to see if my muse doesn't leave me. Anyways, review if you think it's worth the time to review!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

The captain snapped her long glass shut with a click. They'd been at sea for three days, working to intercept their prey. And now they had found her. The captain felt it in her bones. That was the _Bulldog_. A quick check in her glass had proved her right. Her lip drew back in a snarl. She couldn't wait to catch the fat merchantman.

For that matter, neither could her crew. They wanted whatever lay in the _Bulldog_'s hold, making her slow and heavy. The captain's snarl changed into a smirk as she watched the overloaded ship wallow along at a sluggish pace. She was running on a beam reach, her fastest point of sail, where the wind blew perpendicular to the ship. Still, the ship was barely plowing along.

"All hands to make sail!" She bellowed to her crew. Sailors scurried up the ratlines to follow her bidding. The _Bulldog_ may have been bigger, better armed, and had the wind's favor, but she was no match for the much smaller pirate. The pirate's crew wouldn't dare accept defeat. They were much to terrified of their lady captain to do that. The captain steadied herself on a railing and waited for her time. Almost as an after thought, she said over her shoulder,

"Hoist the colors."

The black flag that brought terror to any honest sailor unfurled, it's skull lazily grinning.

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><p>On the <em>Bulldog<em>, another captain was watching the other ship through his glass. He wasn't as sure, but he thought that the ship was familiar. His breath caught as he watched the colors raise. The white skull with the bleeding red heart. It was her. The _Lost Lady_.

"All hands to battle stations!" He hollered, not a little panic tingeing his words. He turned to his companion. "This isn't a fight I want to take, but they've the advantage. I ken ya are a man of God. If'n ya stay below, and are calm when they board us, they'll probably be inclined ta mercy."

Philip looked at the man for a minute, before nodding and ducking down a hatch. The ship was a swarm of activity as me prepared for the battle. He carefully dodged his way back to his quarters. One of the sailors spotted him.

"Pray for us, Preacher. Beg God hard, 'nd we might just make it."

Before Philip could answer, the sailor was gone. He made his way to his tiny cabin and fell to his knees, praying in earnest for everything that was on his mind.

_Please, let me see her one last time._

The fight was fierce and bloody. Philip tried to ignore the smoke and the screams and the explosions as he cried out to God. Gradually, he became aware that the fighting had stopped. Voices barked orders as the sound of the shuffling feet of herded sailors drifted down the hatch. An order came for the ship to be searched, before the cargo was removed. He heard sharp foot falls coming down the hatch. They paced his way, stopping just outside his door. He turned as the door opened, clutching his cross in his hand.

From his knees, he gazed up at the intruder. The woman was beautiful beyond all description. Dark waves of hair fell around her shoulders, past her waist. He could only gape at the woman that seemed so familiar.

"Well what do we have here?" She said curiously. "O'Quinn certainly wasn't the religious type. So what are you doing here?"

Her voice was the sound of an angel choir. Philip was entranced by its beauty. It was unearthly.

"Are you simple?" The beautiful woman's face folded into a small frown. Philip wanted so hard to tell her no, anything that would remove that expression that was soiling her beauty. But he couldn't compel himself to respond.

"I can't very well kill you. I guess I shall have to take you with. I'm so sorry about this."

_Sorry? Sorry for what? Nothing so beautiful as you should be sorry…_ Philip wanted to say.

The woman accepted a rifle from the officer behind her. Philip watched her raise it in the air.

_Oh. That's why._ Raced through his mind as the butt of the stock crashed down on his temple.

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><p>The woman looked at the young man crumpled at her feet. It was a pity she had to do that. Oh well, hopefully it would not leave a scar. She turned to two of her sailors waiting nervously a little ways down the gangway.<p>

"Yes?" She snapped. They jumped slightly and the one on the left knuckled his brow.

"All crew accounted for, Cap'n."

"Very well. Take him," She motioned to the unconscious young man, "back aboard the _Lady_. Leave him in my cabin with a guard."

The two sailors saluted again and hurried to carry out their orders. Finally, she turned to her first mate, who was waiting patiently for her attention.

"You've something to say?"

"You didn't need to do that, Eve. The boy would have gone quietly." The mate addressed the captain with the familiarity born of many years of shared hardship.

Her voice softened. "You're my very own conscience, aren't you, Cyril?" The mate chuckled. "He'll serve as a good reminder to the crew not to cross me, I suppose."

She looked wistfully at the Bible that lay on the bunk. Eve picked it up, weighing it in her hand. She turned sharply back to her mate. "See to it that the cargo is stowed aboard the _Lady_, and that the _Bulldog_ is disabled. We have what we came for, and I don't wish to harm the crew. We're close enough to land that they should be found soon." She ordered, any softness gone. "I shall attend to our 'guest'."

As she strode across the deck, her newly claimed sword clanked at her hip. A sweet, tight feeling filled her chest. Revenge. Captain James O'Quinn was dead.

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><p>Eve lounged in her chair, ankles crossed, as she watched her captive. His eyelids fluttered before slowly opening. He blinked once. Twice. His head turned groggily. He winced and touched the darkened spot on his temple where a bruise was quickly growing. He saw her and started.<p>

"Do you know who I am?" The captain asked, uncrossing her legs. The young man shook his head carefully. His brow furrowed as he thought deeper.

"Pirate?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

The two continued to stare at each other for a piece of time. Eve cocked her head.

"What are you?" She asked softly.

"I-I am a missionary. I came from England to witness to the, eh, well the lost people of the Caribbean. My name is Philip Swift."

"Why were you on the _Bulldog_?"

"I was stranded, and they rescued me."

"Did you speak much to the captain?"

"Captain O'Quinn? Yes, some."

The captain stood lithely, striding to the door of the cabin. She pulled it open and paused. "Welcome to the _Lost Lady_, Mr. Swift. You will be added to the rotations as soon as you are well."

The door clicked shut with a sudden finality, and Phillip found himself alone in the cabin, looking after the strange lady captain.

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><p><strong>Okay, from here on out, there's going to be more and more naval terms scattered throughout. Let me know if anything needs explained, or if you have any corrections (I'm a big girl. I can take it.)<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

At two bells of the middle watch, the captain relived the first mate of his watch. He looked up in surprise as she tapped his shoulder and announced the change.

"Thank you, Eve." He murmured as he tipped his hat and headed back down to his bunk. She nodded in acknowledgement, before checking the binnacle.

The captain settled herself in place, legs spread to balance on the softly rolling deck, arms folded behind her. All was in order and it looked to be a rather uneventful watch. Eve allowed her mind to wander to the events of earlier that day. The battle, the sound of the guns and the smell of fear and smoke. The way her pulse quickened and blood pounded through her veins. The look on Captain O'Quinn's face as she leapt aboard, sword drawn, hair blowing around her as she took command of the deck. His deck. The feeling of driving her sword through him to the hilt. Watching him die at her feet. Taking his sword.

She couldn't help but allow herself a small smile. It had been a good victory. But then her mind wandered to another thought. She remembered watching his lips form a word as he lay at her feet. _Yvaine_. It was a name she'd not heard in many, many years. Unbidden, another memory came to the forefront of her mind.

"_Yvaine! Yvaine! How beautiful thou art! Oh how my soul cries out the name of my one true love, my fair Yvaine!" The young man crowed. The slight, raven haired girl beside him giggled. _

"_James! Really? Is that necessary?"_

"_Oh but for you my heart beats and my lungs draw breathe. I must proclaim you to the seas!" The man laughed, spinning around on the ship's deck. The girl pulled his arm, leading him away from the railing._

"_All right, my love, my strong man. You have proclaimed my fairness enough." The young woman looked into his eyes, her soft smile calling to him like a siren's song, her lips begging for his attentions. She seemed to read his mind, as she tilted her face upward, pressing her lips to his…_

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><p>Phillip lay quietly in the cabin beneath the captain's feet. He too, was lost in thought. His thoughts strayed to Syrena once more. He couldn't help but wonder where she was, and if he'd ever see her again. He sighed as he rolled over and tried to shove the thoughts of her to the back of his mind. Gradually his thoughts changed to his strange new captain.<p>

He'd never seen a lady captain before. He'd heard tales of course, but had never met a woman who led a ship. She did not seem like a likely captain either. She was frail and slight, maybe a half a head shorter than he. Raven wing hair flowed about her, yet she seemed to shirk all feminine dignity, instead preferring to wear trousers and loose shirts like her crew.

He was sure he'd never met her before, yet Phillip couldn't shake the feeling that he had, or maybe someone quite similar. Grunting in frustration, he rolled back over and punched the pillow into a fluffier shape. He dropped his head heavily onto the pillow, wincing as his wounded temple struck the bed. After many nights that he spent in a hammock, swaying with the ship's motion, he just couldn't get used to the rolling motion that came with sleeping in a bed. Much less the captain's bed, with her scent still remaining on the pillows. Phillip groaned and rolled onto his back, staring at the decking overhead until his eyes drifted shut and he fell into a deep sleep.

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><p>Philip was rudely awakened by the slam of the cabin door. He lay there with his eyes closed, trying to fall back asleep. Sleep had decided to flee him completely, though, as he listened to the tap of the captain's boots, the scrape of a chair being pulled out, and the swish of her coat as she sat. A flint struck and an oil lamp flared to life, throwing eerie shadows across the walls. The distinct sound of parchment unrolling reached Philip's ears, followed by the soft clicks and clinks of measuring instruments and the scratching of a pencil. She began to sing softly to herself as she worked.<p>

The music of it washed over Philip, wrapping him up, filling him, drowning him. He sat up abruptly, gasping for a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The song cut off abruptly as the captain turned curiously.

"Did I disturb you?" She asked, shifting in her seat. Philip shook his head, unable to say anything.

"Is there something you wish to say?"

"You-you're… you're not what you… what you look like… are you?" Philip managed to choke out.

She laughed. It was the sound of pealing bells. "No, I suppose I'm not. Do you know what I am?"

"Mermaid." Philip whispered. He felt beads of sweat break out across his brow.

"Yes." She nodded, "That is true."

"But… how…?" He stammered.

"You talked to Captain O'Quinn, yes? Doubtless you heard the story—it's one of his favorites. Though he tells it differently than I would, I must say."

Philip looked hard at her, trying to understand. Something clicked and his eyes widened.

"_Yvaine…_" He whispered. She smiled, almost sadly.

"Yes, that was my name many years ago, when I met him. He was just a plain, able-bodied seaman then. It was, oh, maybe forty, no, forty-five years ago?" Yvaine tilted her chair back on two legs, swaying with the ships motion.

"I-I don't understand."

"No, I don't suppose I do, either. See mermaids, they're immortal. They choose when they die. They don't age, either. But, like all living things, things that put strain on them can, in fact, age them, until they have only the lifespan of a normal human being. Certain emotions can do this. Unnatural emotions." She paused to think, her chair teetering dangerously far back.

"What sort of emotions?" Philip prompted. His thoughts were on Syrena.

"Unnatural ones. Well, unnatural to us. We understand and display hatred, jealousy, lust, anger… all of those just fine. It's the nicer ones that strain us. Kindness, compassion, joy… love. Those age us. Only when the emotion is no longer felt, does the mermaid stop aging."

"What happened to you and Captain O'Quinn? What is your story?"

"Oh, it's a long one, it is. We met off the coast of what humans call Brazil. It was love at first sight. We agreed to meet again when the ship was in port. I would come on land for him, and he would desert. We would runaway together. And we did. I had his child, though neither he nor the child knows. James left me before the child was born. I gave him away, said I would come and get him when he was older." She looked fondly out the cabin window onto the deck, where the first mate was standing.

"Did you ever find your child?"

"Yes, yes I did. Though he doesn't know it. When he was sixteen, I came back, found him working at a tavern, slopping the pigs and cleaning stalls. I offered him the chance of a lifetime—to sail on a pirate, to be rich and never hungry again. He took it, of course, and I've been able to watch him for the past thirty years."

"Thirty years? Has he noticed that you never age?"

"Oh, but I do. As long as I still held some emotion towards his father, I aged. Maybe not as quickly, but I do. He does know part of my secret, though." Yvaine smiled smugly.

"Captain?" Philip started hesitantly.

"Yvaine is fine for private quarters, Mr. Swift."

"Philip." He corrected, before continuing. "If love ages a mermaid… is there any set rate at which they age?"

"No. It depends on how much they care about the person they love, and on each mermaid. Kinder mermaids age slower. I was not kind."

"Thank you, Yvaine, for telling me." Philip murmured, before rolling over, his thoughts far away and with his own mermaid.


End file.
